


The Divine Right Of Kings

by siriusblue



Series: The King's Harlot [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Explicit Sexual Content, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, M/M, Top Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-17 18:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11857443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: Medieval AU. Lord Gregory Lestrade, knight and keeper of the King's peace, is banished from court. On the death of the king, the new ruler summons him to swear loyalty bringing back memories Lestrade has tried for ten years to forget.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't meant to be chaptered, sorry. If you think this might make a good series, let me know, I've got a lot of good ideas for this 'verse.

THE DIVINE RIGHT OF KINGS.

 

Rating: Explicit. For sex, mostly.

 

A/N Yes, I should be working on ‘The Kindness of Strangers’ but this got into my head and wouldn’t leave till I wrote it. I will turn this into a chaptered/series story if enough people like it. For now, enjoy some medieval Mystrade.

 

Dedicated to my Tumblr peeps who thought it would be a great idea @lavenderandvanilla, @agent-elaine, @socially-ineptnerd, @hmg621, @daynaan, @ialeexd, and @egmon73 and finally, @mystrade-lecroft for the fic prompt. You know the one I mean….

 

 

_Torn from his lover’s arms by heavily-armed men, the last sight of his lover, despairing blue eyes and rumpled red hair, lips swollen with frantic kisses, trying to protest but being cuffed into silence._

_Then being thrown naked in front of the throne, the towering presence of the king himself backlit by cresset torches, rage and disgust contorting his patrician features._

_“I should have you burned alive,” snarled King Morland. “or better yet, I should pass a Bill of Attainder and deprive you and your family of everything you possess. But I will not, the shame would be too great for my entire family. To think that a son of mine would stoop to such foul practices…”_

_He shook his grizzled head as if trying to remove even the thought._

_“Sir Gregory, you are hereby banished from our court. Return to the North and never return. If you set one foot near this palace again, or try to contact my son, you will die. Is that understood?”_

_“Yes, Sire.”_

_“Then get out of my sight.”_

Lord Gregory Lestrade awoke, his heart pounding and a scream locked behind his lips.

 

The night candle which burned beside his bed illuminated him as he got up and stripped off his sweat-stained nightshirt. The door to his bedchamber creaked open and Phillip Anderson, his squire, stumbled in, still heavy-eyed from sleep.

 

“I thought I heard you cry out, my lord,”

 

“Just a nightmare, Phillip,” said the knight. “Would you fetch some more wine?”

 

As the squire left, Lord Gregory pissed heavily into the chamber pot and dragged a fresh nightshirt out of the chest at the bottom of his bed.

 

Ten years. Ten bloody years and he was still having the same nightmare, a memory of the night he had lost the one person who had come to mean more than life itself to him. Gone in the blink of an eye.

 

He had returned home to the family estate to find he was desperately THneeded. Both his parents were dead with plague and the tenant farmers on his land and in the village were openly rebellious. He had had to be reasonably heavy- handed at first, but the peasants had quickly come to respect the battle-hardened knight with the keen sense of justice. Over the years he had turned the estate into a prosperous one, repaired the damage of years of neglect and cared properly for his people. He danced at their weddings, stood beside them at harvest time, rejoiced when they had children and mourned their dead with them.

 

Every man, woman and child felt safe under Lord Gregory’s banner of two rampant boars and his servants were proud to wear his green and gold livery.

 

The village itself had attracted people who didn’t fit into what the church or society would believe seemly. The blacksmith was a woman who shared her cottage with Mistress Hooper, landlady of the village alehouse. Father Michael de Stamford had the parish living. A portly Franciscan, his love of fine wine and pretty women should have had him defrocked, but Lord Gregory turned a blind eye, quite content to have such a comfortable confessor, especially when he returned from the bawdy houses in York when the need for physical intimacy became too much.

 

There were many such people in the village but the best of them, in Lord Gregory’s opinion, was the doctor. Lord Gregory had need of a physician and had been more than happy to employ Doctor Watson to the post. The doctor had studied in Paris and had had an Arabic master so a lot of his ideas flew in the face of conventional medicine, but no one could deny that he got results.

 

Within a very short time, John Watson had become Lord Gregory’s boon companion, his best friend and confidant. John was visiting for dinner that night and Lord Gregory was very much looking forward to it.

 

It was pointless trying to get back to sleep, he realised. He had scheduled a hunt for that day and he needed to get ready. Phillip returned with the wine, Lord Gregory swallowed a gobletful then instructed the younger man on what attire he would need for the day.

 

The other local landowners were suspicious of Lord Gregory and mostly shunned him. It was traditional for the sons of nobility to be sent to train in the arts of war in another great household, but no one ever approached Lord Gregory to do this, even with his legendary fighting skills. Until Sir George Anderson had arrived unannounced at the manor house and asked for an audience. He had explained to Lord Gregory that he was finding it difficult to secure a pace for his youngest, Phillip.

 

“Boy likes books and alchemy far too much,” he had grumbled. “Needs to know the manlier arts. Will you teach him, my lord?”

 

“Yes, of course,” he had replied.

 

Lord Gregory hadn’t been disappointed. Phillip was indeed bookish and loved his experiments but was also very eager to learn and please his father. His sword and lance skills had improved beyond measure, as had his riding as well as his courtly manners, all under Lord Gregory’s tutelage. Soon he would be ready to be knighted, but that was one occasion that Lord Gregory would have to miss. He would miss the young man too, but there was really no need for another knight in his household.

 

His mind on the hunt, Lord Gregory began to dress.

 

 

His tired band of huntsmen made their way slowly back to the manor house, the cart that rumbled behind them piled with the game they had killed that day. Lord Gregory slapped the sweating neck of Midnight, his favourite hunter and guided him towards the stables.

 

Everyone dismounted with groans and complaints of cramps from limbs held too long in one position, but Lord Gregory merely laughed and invited them all into the manor house for wine.

 

Consequently, he was more than a little drunk when Doctor Watson arrived for dinner that night. They ate and drank heartily and ended the evening on a cushioned bench in front of the massive stone fireplace at one end of the hall.

 

Lord Gregory had dismissed Phillip, telling him to go and enjoy himself as he and the doctor were perfectly capable of pouring their own wine, should the need arise.

 

“He’ll be off to London soon,” said Lord Gregory, toasting the departing Phillip with his goblet. “He’ll be Sir Phillip before Easter Day.”

 

“Good for him,” said Doctor Watson, also raising his goblet. “Why can’t you go and see him knighted?”

 

Lord Gregory shook his head ruefully.

 

“I’m banished from the court. On pain of death.”

 

The doctor looked amazed, his dark blue eyes wide.

 

“Why? What in God’s name did you do? You trained with the young prince, did you not? I know his brother would have been too young but you must have known Prince Mycroft.”

 

Lord Gregory looked away, his friend would be able to read the hurt and regret in his eyes all too easily. Even after all these years.

 

“Yes, I knew him,” he said, wishing he hadn’t drunk so much but fuzzily aware that his tenacious friend wouldn’t give up.

 

“We competed at everything, archery, swordplay, jousting, scholarship. I lost at scholarship, he was he most brilliant man I have ever known. During the day, we were rivals.”

 

“And during the night?” asked Doctor Watson breathlessly. This might explain why his friend had never married even though he could have had his pick of women.

 

“” During the night, he was the love of my life. He still is and always will be. We got careless, we got caught and the king banished me. Ten years and not a word.”

 

Lord Gregory wiped his face, suddenly aware that it was glossed in tears.

 

“I’m so sorry, my friend,” murmured the doctor.

 

Lord Gregory couldn’t reply, he had schooled himself not to dwell on the past, but the past continued to haunt him.

 

There was a thunderous knocking at the hall door and Phillip Anderson burst in as Lord Gregory got unsteadily to his feet.

 

“I’m sorry, my lord,” apologised Phillip. “There’s a herald arrived. He says he must speak to you at once!”

 

“Show him in,” said Lord Gregory.

 

He knew. Even before the slight figure dressed in the red and black livery of the Crown with the griffon badge spoke, he knew and his heart began to pound in his chest like it was trying to escape.

 

“My lord,” said the herald, bowing deeply. “I bring grave tidings. The king is dead.”

 

“Those are grave tidings, “mused Lord Gregory gravely, resisting the urge to throw back his heard and laugh.

 

“King Mycroft has sent messengers throughout the kingdom,” the herald continued. “He demands that all the nobility attend his coronation and swear fealty to him.”

 

“All?”

 

“Yes, my lord. All. The new king is most anxious to quell old hostilities and make new alliances. He also said he is looking forward to welcoming you back to his court.”

 

“Did he?” asked Lord Gregory, feeling the world tip and sway around him. “Thank you, “he said courteously.” Find my steward who will ensure you are fed and watered. He will find you a bed for the night if you need it.”

 

The herald bowed again. “Thank you, my lord.”

 

John Watson watched the herald’s departure with narrowed eyes.

 

“So, what happens now?” he asked. His friend looked like he had just received a blow from a quintain and had yet to recover.

 

“Now, my friend, we make ready to go to London,” said Lord Gregory, a dazzling smile breaking out on his face. “Time to reclaim what once was mine.”

 

TBC (Sorry, Sorry! I ran out of time!)

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> London is full of heartache. He expected nothing less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, folks. I ran out of time AGAIN!! RL sucks. :-(

CHAPTER TWO

 

A/N: Warnings etc in chapter one.

 

 

It was a week before Lord Gregory was ready to leave his estate. He had to make sure the village reeve was confident enough to handle any problems that might arise in his absence, and Father Michael’s substitute had only just arrived that morning. Lord Gregory had also had to fit in several visits to his tailor to make sure he and his companions were suitably attired to attend both the court and the coronation.

 

The day of their departure finally dawned and Lord Gregory, Philip, Father Michael and Doctor Watson set out for London.

 

As they travelled down the road, Lord Gregory found he was nervous. What kind of reception could he expect in the court of King Mycroft?

 

He had sent a messenger ahead to tell the king that they would miss the old king’s funeral but would be there for the Michaelmas coronation.

 

The trip took four days, Lord Gregory growing even more apprehensive with every mile. He wasn’t sure his heart could stand being broken a second time.

 

London loomed before them on the morning of the fifth day, a thousand chimneys pricking the skyline within the city walls.

 

The four men had to fight their way through the milling crowds to the Palace of Westminster where a harried-looking steward assigned them a single chamber and arranged stabling for their weary horses.

 

They dumped their saddlebags in the room, eyed its minute dimensions and each other and burst out laughing.

 

“This is tiny!” John Watson exclaimed. “Father Michael can fill that bed on his own.”

 

“We’ve had a lot worse,” sighed Lord Gregory. “And it won’t be for long. We can leave after the coronation, with the King’s grace.”

 

“The sooner the better,” said Philip darkly. “London is not all I imagined it to be.”

 

“I thought a young lad like you would revel in it,” said Father Michael. “All the pleasures of the flesh abide within these city walls, my lad.”

 

“I just want to go home,” muttered Philip.

 

When the supper horn sounded, Lord Gregory grabbed a passing serf who directed them to the Banqueting Hall. The chamberlain directed the entire party to a nearby table, Philip stood behind his master while the others tried to make themselves as comfortable as possible on the wooden benches.

 

The top table which gave a view of the entire hall, was currently empty as the royal family had yet to arrive. Lord Gregory was just explaining this to John when there was a flourish of trumpets and everyone in the hall stood as the new king and his brother took their places accompanied by princes of the Church and the highest nobility in the land. Once they were seated, the company also sat and the first course was brought in.

 

Lord Gregory couldn’t eat, he could barely breathe any more than he could tear his gaze from King Mycroft.

 

There were some subtle differences in the man, Lord Gregory noticed. His hair was still the same fox red though he had grown a beard, his eyes were wary now, and his smile was a lot more guarded and grudgingly given and Lord Gregory was utterly captivated.

 

John nudged him none too subtly in the ribs.

 

“What?” he asked, turning to look at him.

 

“You are being a bit obvious, my friend. People will notice. By the by, who is that man beside the king? The one with the dark hair who looks bored out of his mind?”

 

Father Michael answered before Lord Gregory could.

 

“That’s Prince Sherlock. I used to teach him at Cambridge. I can introduce you, if you like. He’s fond of men of science and he has a magnificent brain.”

 

“If you would be so kind,” said John dreamily.

 

Lord Gregory snorted and turned away.

 

The day of the coronation dawned fair and Lord Gregory and his companions dressed in their finest to honour the new king. He squinted into the metal mirror and resolved to visit the barber to have his bread trimmed as he smoothed down his heavy green velvet surcote. He had thought it a bit ostentatious, especially with the gold embroidery but he also knew no colours suited him better and he wanted to make a good impression.

 

Newly shorn, he joined his companions on the journey to Westminster Abbey. The Abbey itself was awash with light, colour and the smell of incense and when the new king was anointed and crowned, Lord Gregory cheered as loudly as the rest of the congregation.

 

There was a massive banquet afterwards to celebrate. Every course had taxed the art of both the cooks and the confectioners. Lord Gregory’s companions indulged themselves to the hilt, Doctor Watson became quite lyrical about Prince Sherlock and how clever he was. Lord Gregory sighed and gestured for Philip to fill his goblet yet again.

 

Just then, the High Steward rose to his feet and spoke.

 

“All lords who would prosper in this reign, come forth now and pledge your fealty!”

 

Lord Gregory sprang to his feet and was therefore first in line. The High Steward spoke again once the assembly of nobility was complete.

 

“Lord Gregory Lestrade, kneel before your king and pledge your allegiance.”

 

Nervously, Lord Gregory approached the throne-like chair. He knelt, and took both of King Mycroft’s long-fingered hands in his. Hands that had caressed his body with such tenderness once but when he looked up at his king, there was no recognition in those cold sapphire eyes, no affection, just the almost palpable aura of kingship. He felt ashamed that he had dared to expect love from such a man as this.

 

His heart cracking anew, he spoke the feudal oath that bound him to this king for life, leant over and kissed the king’s coronation ring.

 

“Our thanks, Lord Gregory,” said King Mycroft. “It does my heart good to see you returned to court.” Lord Gregory sensed that the king’s attention was focused elsewhere, that he was merely being polite.

 

“My liege, “he said stiffly, getting to his feet and bowing deeply.

 

When he returned to his seat, John Watson grabbed his arm.

 

“So?” he demanded.

 

“We’re leaving as soon as we can,” said Lord Gregory bleakly. “There is nothing here for me any more.”

 

TBC

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Gregory is desperate to go home, but the fates are conspiring against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally done. Thank you to everyone who has liked or commented on this. now enjoy some Mystrade smut. :-)

CHAPTER THREE

 

A/N: Warnings etc in chapter one.

 

It had been three days since the coronation and Lord Gregory was more desperate to leave the court than ever.

 

“Why don’t we just go?” asked Philip.

 

“It would be a grave discourtesy,” replied Lord Gregory. “To leave without royal permission just isn’t done. If you ever want to be knighted, you have to do things according to the code of chivalry. I thought I had tutored you better than that?”

 

“You did, my lord. But you are not the only one who wants to go home. This court is full of devious people who smile sweetly at you before sticking a dagger in your back.”

 

“And learning to deal with them shall be another important part of your education. Now, I must find the king’s steward and ask again for an audience.”

 

Lord Gregory swept along the palace’s corridors, his long cloak billowing behind him. He managed to find one of the king’s stewards and asked, again, if he could have an audience with the king.

 

“You and half the kingdom want to see King Mycroft,” sighed the steward. “They all want something from him.”

 

“I have asked every day since the coronation,” said Lord Gregory angrily. “Does my title mean nothing or give me any kind of precedence?”

 

“I will see what can be done, my lord,” said the steward, looking fearful and Lord Gregory felt disgusted with himself. The man was only doing his job, protecting the king’s interests. Just because Lord Gregory wanted to slink away and lick his wounds was no excuse for rudeness.

 

“My thanks,” he said courteously and walked away.

 

It was a fine day and he thought to distract himself in the palace gardens. He strolled through them, inhaling the late summer perfumes and felt the tension in him ease a little. The gate to the poison garden was closed, but he could hear voices, one of which he thought he recognised.

 

“Belladonna,” said the voice. “If it’s distilled properly it can ease a labouring heart or make a woman’s eyes dilate to make her look more beautiful.”

 

“Or kill you stone dead, far faster than any blade. You intrigue me, Doctor. Is the study of poisons compulsory in your medical training?”

 

Two figures emerged from the garden, John Watson in his doctoral robes and Prince Sherlock, sheathed in black velvet sewn with seed pearls. Lord Gregory bowed deeply.

 

“Good morning, your Highness,” he said.

 

“Lord Gregory!” exclaimed the prince. “It has been an eternity since I saw you last. Doctor Watson here has been telling me all about your estate in the north. I would very much like to visit sometime. It sounds idyllic.”

 

John Watson had the grace to blush, Prince Sherlock was oblivious to the horrified look Lord Gregory was sending him.

 

“You would be more than welcome, your Highness. However, you may find it extremely dull. We live very simply up there and I only entertain when I must.”

 

“I long for solitude sometimes,” said the prince. “I feel as if I am constantly on display. I admire my brother for his fortitude, it does not seem to disturb him. You and he were friends once, were you not? Was he always thus?”

 

Lord Gregory closed his eyes briefly, another shard of pain piercing his heart but he knew he had to answer.

 

“Your brother has learned to sever himself from all emotions, it seems. He was not always that way, he was once a very passionate man, yet people do change. The process of living and the responsibility of royalty makes them so.”

 

Prince Sherlock’s gaze pinned him and Lord Gregory had to look away, suddenly afraid that the prince would see everything in his heart.

 

“Will you be staying at court, Lord Gregory?” asked the prince.

 

“I have asked for an audience with the king,” he replied, relieved at the change of topic. “I crave his leave to depart. However, my request seems to be taking a very long time.”

 

Prince Sherlock frowned. “My brother should make time for his devoted friends. I will see what I can do. “

 

Lord Gregory bowed again. “My thanks.”

 

The other man smiled and it was like watching the sun come out.

 

“Come, Doctor,” he said to John Watson. “You were going to show me some of Galen’s work in the library.”

 

“Yes, of course,” smiled John and they walked off.

 

Much later that night, Lord Gregory was preparing for bed. Philip was already snoring on one of the straw pallets they had acquired and John and Father Michael had yet to return. There was a thunderous knocking on the door which did not disturb Philip in the least. Shaking his head in wry amusement, Lord Gregory opened the door to find yet another steward in royal livery standing there.

 

“My lord,” said the man. “The king demands your presence.”

 

Nodding, Lord Gregory put his boots back on and followed the steward through the labyrinthine corridors to the king’s chambers. He waited nervously as he was announced and a squire ushered him in.

 

The room was vast and lit with hundreds of beeswax candles which filled the air with their sweet scent. The king sat in a gilt chair which was raised on a low dais. His surcote was trimmed with ermine and the face above it looked tired and bleak.

 

Lord Gregory and the king looked at each other and looked away while the king said in a voice of chill command.

 

“I will see Lord Gregory alone.”

 

The squire and a clerk who had been seated at a table silently withdrew as Lord Gregory bowed deeply.

 

King Mycroft got to his feet and crossed the room with the peculiar grace he had always had.

 

“Lord Gregory. I hear disturbing intelligence from my little brother that you wish to leave my court. Is this true?”

 

Lord Gregory was trembling now, but he refused to succumb to the maelstrom of emotions running through him like grain through wood. He had deceived himself, he realised, if he thought he was ever going to get over loving this brilliant, complex, desirable man. He might as well jump in the Thames in full armour and ease some of the pain before he could live with it no longer.

 

“Yes, sire,” he replied, hearing and despising the longing in his own voice. He could not look at King Mycroft, he wanted to escape from this with some degree of dignity but his gasp was audible when he felt a long finger caress his cheek.

 

“Look at me, Gregory.”

 

He did and felt his heart begin to thunder in his chest both from the touch and the low, caressing tone of the king’s voice. And the tenderness in his eyes.

 

“I can’t let you go again,” continued the king. “Not without a fight.”

 

“God above!” moaned Lord Gregory. ” Let me go! I cannot stay here with you so close and knowing that whatever we had is dead and buried. I loved you, I love you still but you are the king.”

 

“Whatever made you think my love for you was any the less?” asked King Mycroft. “We must all wear masks, my love. What I feel for you is real as it ever was. Kiss me, Gregory, and you will know it for sure.”

 

He needed no second invitation, pulling the king into his arms, blindly finding his lips and kissing him deeply, their tongues teasing and exploring, the king’s hand warm on the back of Lord Gregory’s neck. Lord Gregory’s hands moving gently over the familiar body, unlacing and unfastening as they continued to kiss, needing this more than he needed to breathe, his hand sliding between the kings’ legs, stroking the erection he found there through thick cloth, making the king moan into his mouth.

 

He broke the kiss and smiled. King Mycroft’s blue eyes hazy with lust.

 

“Will you kneel for your king?” he asked.

 

“If you will kneel for me,” he replied.

 

“On hands and knees, my love,” gasped King Mycroft as Lord Gregory snapped the points holding the other man’s hose in place, freeing his erect cock. Lord Gregory knelt, one hand fondling the king’s high, tight balls, covered in red hair soft as thistledown. It had obviously been a long time since anyone had done this to him and Lord Gregory grinned as he lowered his head, inhaling the musky scent of the other man, his hand tight on the base of the shaft, licking round the leaking head before sucking deeply, King Mycroft’s hands in his hair, his soft moans and litany of filthy words pure music to Lord Gregory’s ears.

 

“Stop!” hissed King Mycroft when Lord Gregory sensed he was near the point of no return. “I want to come with you inside me.”

 

Lord Gregory let the king’s cock slide out of his mouth and got to his feet, pulling off his shirt and quickly discarding his other clothes.

 

The king’s gaze roamed over Lord Gregory’s naked body.

 

“Still as beautiful as the day I last saw you,” he murmured. “Bolt the door, my love. I don’t want any unexpected visitors.”

 

Lord Gregory did as he was bid, turning to see a beautiful sight. King Mycroft kneeling naked on the thick carpet with his arse raised and a come hither look in his eyes that almost made Lord Gregory trip up in his haste to get to him.

 

He slicked his fingers with lamp oil from the pot by the door, its bitter tang evoking even more memories, and slid one broad finger inside his lover. King Mycroft moaned and pushed back. He inserted another, stretching and easing him before lubricating his own aching erection and sliding in to the root. He gasped at the sensation of being held tightly in what felt like warm velvet and he paused, allowing his lover to adjust to him. He began to move, slick heat and long abstinence making him realise he would not last long, one hand steadying himself on the king’s hip, the other reaching around to stroke the other man’s erection in time to his own thrusts.

 

Unable to hold back any longer he climaxed, biting down hard on the soft flesh in front of him. Seconds later, King Mycroft came like a fountain, spattering his thighs and the carpet with hot ribbons of semen.

 

Lord Gregory eased out of King Mycroft’s body and collapsed on the carpet, pulling his lover close to him and showering his face with kisses. The king pulled Lord Gregory’s discarded cloak over them both and pillowed his head on his lover’s chest.

 

“I love you, Gregory,” he whispered and felt a kiss land on the top of his head. “And I don’t want you to ever leave me again.”

 

“I never will, “replied Lord Gregory. “I swore an oath of fealty to you, but here is my final vow. On the souls of my mother and father, I will love you till I die.”

 

“As I will you. How could I say anything less?” asked King Mycroft. Lord Gregory held him tighter, close enough to feel they were one flesh.

 

The End?

 

 

 


End file.
